


i'm the whole damn cake with the cherry on top

by sultrygoblin



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Almost smut, Coitus Interruptus, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot -request - aldo has a few wars he still ain’t done fighting
Relationships: Aldo Raine/Original Female Character(s), Aldo Raine/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	i'm the whole damn cake with the cherry on top

**Author's Note:**

> hey anon! so i done did goof and thought the thing said aldo or donny cuz it said donny and aldo above. so if its too much a fuck up for you, send me a note with a new one and i’ll bump it up the list
> 
> "heyyy I need more donny and aldo from you! they are everything that I need during quarantine. could you do a donny fic where the reader is a total badass (like knows how to fight, knife carrying, motorbike riding etc)? I dont mind what the story line is but I dont mind the jealous/possessive kind of stories tbh ;)" - it's accidentally aldo

If Aldo had been asked to describe his perfect woman, well, he had an entire list. Not that it was wise of any man to admit that. It wasn’t a brief list either. Then Hitler rose, Nazi’s ran wild across Europe, and they got ready to go in. They were gathering a group, almost all of them there, when the motorbike came flying in, stopping right at the edge of the punctual gathered. You smiled, just smiled, and Aldo forgot he’d even had a list. There was only one perfect woman for him and you were right there with him in the thick of it. Oblivious to every signal a man could send that didn’t involve fire and smoke. Boys never looked at girls like you, it’s why you’d made yourself oblivious, but Aldo wasn’t a boy. He was a red-blooded American man. Who loved himself a badass beauty and was too chickenshit to do anything about it.

Unfortunately, Donowitz wasn’t chickenshit. He was around your age and seemed to show off his manly prowess in one way or another. Not to mention he had no problem voicing exactly what he thought about you in front of everyone. And you ate that shit up. Rolling your eyes and flipping him off while you hide your face in the other hand to hide your grin. Which should be good. You’d end up with someone your own age, it’d be a pleasant story to tell your kids, and the thought made him wince. Without thinking, he pulls them apart. Separate watches, he signs you up for a few recon missions without telling you till the Sergeant was off ahead with a scout group. Even now as they prepped for their edited edition of Operation Kino, you were to stay right by his side. He’d told you that about a hundred times and planned to tell you another hundred until you stepped into the front room.

The cap dress was burgundy, it’s collar and hem matching the white of his own tuxedo. He’d never seen you with makeup, but the smokey eye and deep lip are far too distracting. It would draw attention. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Arm candy never hurt, especially when that arm candy could speak Italian. That was the plan. He just hadn’t prepared for the plan. Donny stepped forward, and he stops the boy in his tracks, shooting daggers at him and offering his arm. Everyone saw what happened in that moment. His arm around your waist with a step and a flick, ushering the rest of the group outside. It was a little message all his own and the way you kept shooting him glances, even as that man blabbered on, told him you were gonna talk about.

They don’t get a chance until they’re in the front of the truck, Utivich in the back with the Jew Hunter. In one well-dressed night the war had ended, the next few months would be clearing up stragglers and trying to put the world back together. You look beautiful, still so put together as you drive the monstrosity through the woods as if you were on any other road. You got your eyebrows furrowed, your lipstick is long gone which is good or it’d be staining your teeth the way you’re manhandling that bottom lip with them. He’d watched you scalp a breathing man but couldn’t muster the balls to just start this off.

“That wasn’t fair of me,” he breaks it instead, leaning against the door, watching you focus on the road, “All that.”

Even as you bit them, your lips twisted in a smile, “That? Don’t worry about that,” glancing over at him briefly before taking a hard turn to keep on the vague trail, “I just didn’t think you, um, well you…”

It’s what you’d traded it all for. You could bag yourself a buck for dinner, ride a bike like a bat out of hell, and cut down men twice your size with a nail file. But you ain’t got a clue about how men work and he is wondering if you’d actually been eating all of Donowitz’s shit up or if you just hadn’t known what to say to something so blatant.

“Where’d you come from, darlin’?” it starts as a joke but by the last syllable he really means it.

They spend the afternoon and long into the night talking about all the things neither of them had ever talked about before. Things from long before the war, feelings they’d never gotten to touch on, thoughts they’d never been able to air. By the time the sun is peeking over the horizon, they’re just a few miles off and your eyes are barely open. The time never really occurring to him until he’d begun to see the purple and pinks. He makes you pull over, taking over driving duties and handing off the tux jacket. It won’t do much, but it offers some comfort. You curl up best you can, pulling it over your shoulders. In no time you’re dead to the world and snoring. Just as beautiful with smeared lipstick and raccoon eyes. When they come to their destination, he lets you sleep, handing off their prisoner. Their pick up arrives in 3 days, right where they’d been dropped off, if they were late that was on them. He doesn’t waste any time, getting changed fast as he could, gassing up and moving out.

{}

You wake up in the afternoon with a start and a snort that he can’t help laughing at. You kick him lightly with a now barefoot. You don’t ask and he doesn’t offer an answer, Utvich sits there. About five minutes later they were at the edge of a small bridge. He reached under the seat, handing you a knapsack with a smile. You takes it, climbing from the cab and making your way into the woods and out of sight. Five minutes go by. Then ten. Fifteen soon follows, and he feels himself getting antsy. By the twenty-minute mark he’s shut off the engine, handing the keys off with a warning to get out if anything looked dicey and setting off in the same direction you had gone. It takes a few more minutes than he expects before he sees that familiar dress abandoned in the dirt. Stepping through the trees to bend down and grab it, he’s quickly distracted. The trousers are rolled up over your knees, the shirt is unbuttoned to the middle of your torso, exposing the valley between you breasts but not themselves, standing in the icy water and scrubbing at your face. It looked like you were still fighting that godforsaken makeup off you and couldn’t quite be completely rid of it.

It’s just a flash, you a bit less clothed in the creek that winds just a half-mile from his back porch, glowing from the summer sun that breaks through the trees. And it’s like you’ve seen it too when he comes back, your eye on him. Most of the black is gone. He can see the imperfections of your face once more. They’re his favorite imperfections, though. It’s now or never, he knows that. Ignoring the dress, as clearly had been your intent, he jerks his head back towards the truck and makes his way back into the woods. He doesn’t move too far, and you come stepping through not more than a few minutes after. You’ve got your jacket over one arm, working at the buttons of you shirt as you stepped through the woods.

“I don’t see either of those things bein’ necessary,” tugging the jacket from you, and the knapsack, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth in a very different fashion than you did, “We get up to that road you get right in the back,” you opened your mouth, “Pretty sure that’s an order, private,” before turning on his feet.

It’s an instinct to follow behind him and when they make it to the road, you do just that. Pushing up the canvas and barely hopping over the wood, landing with what should’ve been a thump in the back. But there was just a firm softness beneath your backside. Aldo stepped up to the open window with that grin his private knew well.

“I think she’s earned it, Lieutenant,” it comes with a tone that makes it clear he knows more than he’s letting on. It’s not hard to guess what, “You both have.”

“I think you may be right,” holding up his hand with all five of his fingers spread, “Then you get to gettin’ alright?” the nice thing about his men is you never had to tell them twice.

He hops through the back with practiced ease, you’re sitting in the middle of the blankets and cushions he’d ‘acquired’ with your legs crossed, buttons untouched, boots and wool socks gone. It reminds him of the first night in France, didn’t complain once. Just rolled out your bedroll not too far from his, pulled on your jacket, and hunkered down. You wasn’t any different from any other Basterd. Except you were. Maybe that’s where it started. Didn’t really matter where it started though, just mattered where it ended. Aldo keeps hoping it ends with you just as open in that creek, he’s sure you belong there and he’s just gotta convince you of that. And he doesn’t have long to do it. Instead of pressing forward, he makes sure to tie the canvas tight, not wanting a nice bump to send it flying. You doesn’t seem bothered, following him closely with your eyes and a knowing curiosity that was unnerving. It wasn’t supposed to be both. He’s just finished up when the engine rumbles to life and he turns with a satisfied smirk.

“What were you sayin’ 'bout thinkin’ I wouldn’t want to?” watching your eyes move over the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up and the vest, “Polite to answer questions, darlin’.”

“You’re playing dirty,” he grinned, you don’t care for his game and he really expects nothing less, “You know what I want-”

“No, don’t think I do,” lowering himself to his knees in front of you, staring you down in that way that only he seemed to manage, it made you want to spill your guts and rub your thighs together, “Know what you want to do but ya weren’t too clear 'bout what ya wanted.”

It’s about to be a spill your guts moment, “You,” one word, three letters, and it’s one of the hardest things you’ve ever said.

It’s all he wants, he doesn’t need very much from you. He’s a simple man who wanted what he wanted, “Ain’t that a coincidence,” the tip of his finger making a straight line from the hollow of your throat, “That’s all I was after too,” between your breasts, “Minute you parked that bike I was done for,” stopping at the 3rd to last button, the first one done, and plucking it open. And the one after that. Then the last one.

If you had a smart ass remark, you couldn’t articulate it, and the sudden silence seemed as good a time as any to venture further. He spreads his fingers, pressing his hand to your sternum and slowly backward as he climbed gracefully over you. Aldo has no dreamy thoughts about being you first, he knows better, but he’ll be the best and he’ll be the last. He knows that and it’s up to him to make sure you does too. Least that’s what he would’ve done.

Except even now Nazi’s knew how to ruin a damn good party.

**Author's Note:**

> as always feedback is appreciated. and i am always taking ideas or requests.


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